


The Inevitable

by orphan_account



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sybil's feelings towards Branson unfold as she tries to persuade him not to get himself put in prison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keysmash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keysmash/gifts).



The announcement that came at lunch was the one Sybil had been privately fearing since the beginning of the war. It hadn’t been at the forefront of her mind, of course. She’d been too busy for that. It had only lurked at the side of her thoughts until then and she didn’t want that to change.

“Another of our household has been called up.” Lord Grantham said, barely looking up from his soup. “Branson.”

Sybil lay her spoon back onto the table.

“Oh dear,” said Cora. “I don’t suppose it will be easy to get hold of another chauffeur at a time like this.”

“I can drive everyone around.” Edith offered.

“Of course you can’t, dear.”

Sybil saw that her grandmother was looking at her curiously, and realised she must look odd, frozen in her seat and touching nothing. She forced herself to swallow a mouthful.

Her mother’s reaction angered her – all of theirs did. They would not worry about him. They’d wish him well and claim to be proud of him, when in truth, all his absence meant to them was an inconvenience.

To her he was a person and a _friend_ and she would worry, but she had even more reason to worry than simply because he was her friend. She knew that Branson’s reaction towards joining the war would not be a positive one. He didn’t have the optimism, naivety and patriotism that William had. He was always distrustful, defiant and… Irish.

She went to see him that afternoon. As much as she had anticipated some enmity towards the British Army, she had not expected him to completely refuse to join. He was curiously relaxed and almost cheery about it, which unsettled Sybil further. When he usually talked of politics, he had a glint in his eye and a mad righteousness to his voice, but here he was, talking of defying the army as though he was merely planning to steal some apples.

“At least I’ll have a life.”

He met her eyes as he walked away, and there was that familiar tone and look. It was a challenge. _‘Do you want me alive or dead?’_ And she couldn’t argue with him.

Was she supposed to be happy that he wasn’t going to war? Prison was the least awful consequence he might face and she hadn’t been able to bring herself to suggest anything worse. People were shot for cowardice. If so – she dreaded the thought of it – it was practically suicide.

Sybil was so upset with him, she didn’t slip away to see him on either of the following two evenings. It was strange not to see him, when it had become a habit for her to visit him at the garage most days, just so they could exchange news and hear each other’s opinions.

The day after, she encountered him as she was walking past the front of the house. She was going to ignore him, but he stopped to speak to her.

“I haven’t changed my mind.”

“No, you never do.” she said shortly.

A smile crept onto his face. “I like you being worried about me, but I’d rather you supported me.”

“How can I? It’s a foolish thing to do.”

“Not as foolish as this war.”

He strode away and she watched him go. Her heart was straining in two directions. On one hand, he was right: fighting on the front line would destroy him – mentally, if not physically. She saw daily the lasting effect it had on every soldier. But neither could she let him be treated as a criminal for the rest of his life.

The next time she saw him, he brought the subject up again, without her needing to say anything. He was frustrated this time, having been exempted from duty. At first Sybil panicked that his heart murmur was yet another addition to the ways he might get himself killed, but he told her that it wasn’t dangerous. However her relief was short lived. He declared that he would find another way to humiliate the army.

It was one thing having strong political opinions, thought Sybil, and another wanting to oppose everything and anyone in sight. She was getting tired of it.

“I know we weren’t exactly at our best in Ireland-”

“Not at your best? _Not at your best?_ ”

Instead of her being able to be cross with him, he left her feeling guilty on two counts. Firstly, for having doubted the reason behind his cause and secondly, that it was her people who were behind it.

Her people. It was unfair of him to put her in the same box as them. She was not truly one of the proud aristocrats he despised, and she knew he knew that. It was why he loved her. The two of them were made of the same stuff: free, kindred spirits, who had risen out of the narrow, stagnant worlds of the people upstairs and downstairs.

She was not prepared to let him go. That evening she went to the garage and asked him exactly what he was planning. He refused to tell her.

“Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

He grimaced and shook his head.

“Promise me!”

“Justice is not stupid. If you think it is, I can’t promise you.”

She wanted to make him promise. She would have been willing to beg him to, but it would have been no use. He was too obstinate to go back on anything he’d set his mind on and it would only encourage him to say stupid things, such as that she loved him.

She couldn’t possibly love him. She wasn’t prepared to let herself.

When the General came for dinner, Sybil was too engaged in the conversation to even notice that Branson had entered the room. She saw him briefly when Carson steered him out by the arm, and the grim faces on both men altered her that Branson had in all likelihood attempted something.

She went downstairs to see Carson directly afterwards and demanded to know what had happened. With a pained expression, he asked her not to make him explain. Sybil was glad and grateful that he wanted to protect Branson and managed to persuade him that she would never tell her father or anyone else in her family. He eventually explained that Branson had been given the opportunity to act as footman, but instead of bringing in soup, he had brought in slop to pour over the General’s head. Sybil almost laughed with relief. She had imagined much worse.

“It won’t happen again, my lady. I made him promise.”

She felt a sudden pang of bitterness. “How did you do that?”

Branson was complacent when she saw him again and all his anger over the army seemed to have completely washed away. She was beginning to think it was impossible to predict his mood. It changed so abruptly.

It did so again. One moment they were talking about the fight in Ireland and the next they were back to the question of _them_. Except that for Branson it wasn’t a question. It was a fact.

“I’ll stay at Downton until you want to run away with me.”

He made it sound as though it was inevitable.

How could he be so convinced that she loved him? She wasn’t half so sure, but he’d brought it up so many times that she could no longer rid the thought from her head. Merely saying it did not make it true, and yet it was becoming increasingly difficult to persuade herself that it wasn’t.

She approached the crest of the windy hill, looked out over the land and then turned to view the house before her. Downton Abbey had been so good to her, that it made no sense for her to feel physically repulsed at the thought of remaining there. But it was not the place itself, it was the way of life that she could no longer bear. She could not fully live her own until she left it.

Perhaps it was inevitable.


End file.
